


Serenade and Sadism

by PepperPrints



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:19:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Osborn's whim, he has been taken down, beaten, and left to Bullseye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serenade and Sadism

**Author's Note:**

> Written in reference to Dark Reign - the List: Daredevil. Warnings for: heavy violence, blood and torture.

It's the pain that wakes him first, strain on his arms, stretched high above his head and aching from carrying the burden of all his weight. He twists, and the chains around his wrists clatter, sounding too loud to his extra-sensitive ears and pounding head. There's pain in the back of his skull - pain everywhere, really, but this one is proving easily to be the worst, being the blow that was responsible for taking him down and bringing him here: trapped.

His stirring is loud enough to rouse another, and Matt detects the sound of footfalls first, and then the excited rhythm of a heartbeat he should have not have been so familiar with. Suddenly, everything is very clear.

At Osborn's whim, he has been taken down, beaten, and left to Bullseye.

He's still wearing the mask, still shielded as Daredevil, and it's a small comfort. Masks mean little between the two of them now, something he's sure infuriates Bullseye as much as it does himself. There's little to break the silence save from Matt's shallow breathing, and the creak of the chains supporting him where he hung.

It's disturbing to him that he can hear Bullseye smile, and Daredevil narrows his eyes in turn. He expects a jibe, some declaration of victory. He and Bullseye have fought so many times before, but he has never had Daredevil as vulnerable as this, and the idea does not sit well in Matt's stomach. It twists and it churns, but Matt stays still, betraying nothing.

There's footsteps again, and Matt can smell something. Richness - wood - the arrows Bullseye is so fond of using now that he'd stolen Clint Barton's name. Bullseye chuckles slightly, a short-lived little snort of a sound that Daredevil has decided he very much does not like, though it's nowhere near as unsettling as the noise that follows.

Bullseye hums.

Daredevil tenses, and his sore body sends a protesting ache through him that he ignores. He remembers the church - how could he not? - its high walls echoing with Bullseye's voice, taunting and singing, the night he took Karen from him.

Matt wants to strangle the sound from his throat, the urge sudden and violent, but he won't get the chance, not with his hands bound. His legs can still work. He can kick out if Lester dares come too close. Matt hopes he's stupid enough to grant him the opportunity.

"It's that ole devil called love again," Bullseye purrs more than sings, circling back around him. "Gets behind me..."

Bullseye's heartbeat jumps, and that rich wood arrow that Matt had smelled is lodged into his shoulder with almost unnatural force. Matt chokes out a cry of pain, his body writhing, and he can feel Bullseye tremble.

"And keeps givin' me that shock again..." he finishes, a laugh vibrating through his voice as he steps away.

Matt gasps for breath, his fingers twitching and clenching into fists in attempt to brace himself through the pain, but it's impossible. He's hanging by his arms, every pound of his weight straining against that spot, making it impossible to ignore.

Lester is still singing when he faces him again, and he can hear the smile in his voice. "Suppose I didn't stay - ran away, wouldn't play," he drawls, voice strange and sick. "The devil, what a potion he would brew..."

There's something else, something Matt's mind, dizzy with pain and exhaustion, is late to decipher. He's dragged something along the ground with him, and Matt's eyes widen behind the mask.

"He'd follow me around..."

No...

"Build me up--"

The steel bat cracks up beneath his knee and Matt can hear bone snap, his voice breaking when he tried to shout.

"Tear me down--"

He comes down again and his right leg joins the other, and he hates rewarding Bullseye with a scream.

"'Til I'd be so bewildered," Lester almost sighs. "I wouldn't know what to do."

The pain is worse than being shot, strain on all the wrong places on his body, and the worst part, the very worst, is that Lester is moving closer to him, and Matt cannot lash out when clever fingers reach up to tug his mask away. 

Matt is shaking, his breath sharp and strained. Agony is written on his face, and Matt knows it. Bullseye wants to see it, the sick bastard that he is. Matt clenches his jaw, narrows his unfocused, glassy eyes, and it's as much resistence as he can manage now. There's a noise he's very familiar with, one he's grown too used to associating with Bullseye, and he twists away when a playing card lightly brushes his cheek, but Lester stubbornly follows after him.

Matt wonders if it's an ace of spades, or a Jack.

"Might as well give up the fight again," Lester hums at him, his tone almost thoughtful, and it causes Matt to pause.

Bullseye's voice is lower now, something more darkly intimate, and it sends a sickly sensation creeping up his spine. Matt twitches and clenches his eyes shut when Lester slides the card across them. Harmless.

Bullseye would find pleasure in tearing out his eyes, wouldn't he.

Lester laughs slightly, and he's shaking his head from side to side. "I know darn well he'll convince me that he's right again."

Matt isn't thinking clearly through the pain. He cannot concentrate. The card slips down to his mouth, and Bullseye keeps it there, using enough pressure until he slices into the vulnerable flesh of his lower lip, and Daredevil hisses out.

"When he sings that sorry song," Lester whispers, a strange urgency in his hushed voice. "I just gotta tag along..."

That sick feeling in Daredevil's stomach twists when the card slips away, and Lester replaces it with his tongue, slowly, so slowly and so lightly, licking at the blood he'd drawn, and just barely catching his lower lip beneath his teeth. Matt can feel him tremble, hear his breathing hitch, smell his arousal spiking.

No. Not spades. He's holding hearts, isn't he?

Lester laughs, and it's unsteady, breathy and trembling as he leans his weight into Matt's suffering body, but he has to finish.

"With that ole devil called love."


End file.
